Unfinished Sentences
by TiffanyL
Summary: Some things Hermione leaves unsaid could change her life forever...if she could ever get her thoughts in order, that is! Was a one shot, but got more ideas, so it's inprogress now!
1. Chapter 1

"…and it's supposed to smell differently to each of us, according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and---"

**Stop! Hermione Jane Granger, do NOT complete that sentence under any circumstances! My mind screams at me.**

**You may have been able to answer the question, as usual…but stop rambling about your personal sensations when under the influence of Amortentia!**

I'm so tired of berating myself, honestly…

It's not my fault that I'm attracted to Ron Weasley. Oh, who am I kidding? I was attracted to him in fourth year…by now, I'm head over heels in love with him. Thankfully, however, this attract—love for him is private, unbeknownst to my fellow Gryffindors. Oh, heavens, if they knew? I can only imagine the endless taunts and Merlin knows that else.

Not that taunts would ever alter my feelings for my best friend, of course. No, I'm hopelessly and silently spoken for. I'm beginning to wonder if there will ever be another for me; with each passing day, I become a bit more certain that there won't be.

Come to think of it, how would I have finished that sentence had I not stopped myself? Perhaps the smell of the soap he uses—the waft of springtime whenever he comes down to the common room just after a shower? Or maybe the smell of Chocolate Frogs that lingers about him on many an occasion? Or the distinct scent of his hair that I only get to be privy to when he hugs me, which is a rare occurrence? Sometimes I get a lovely whiff of it when we're in Potions and the steam from his cauldron causes it to be more prominent…at least at those times, I blame the steam from my own cauldron as the cause for my face's flush, rather than a blush brought on by that wonderful, sweet, perfect smell that is simply…Ron.

I wonder what would have happened had I completed my sentence aloud. Surely a blush of embarrassment, but…a part of me, a very small part, wishes that I HAD slipped up, that I had said what I wanted to. At least then, something would finally be thrown out there—an undeniable sign that I have feelings that go beyond friendship for Ronald Weasley. The ends could very well justify the means, for all I know. There would be an undeniable hint, recognizable by even the thickest in the room. Then maybe, just maybe, Ron and I could put a halt to this exhausting dance we've been dancing for what seems like forever.

I look over at him, laughing with Harry about goodness knows what. We're supposed to be making this horribly complicated potion, and I find myself unable to concentrate for the umpteenth time—something I also berate myself for immensely. I'm reading the directions and following them as best I can, but my mind keeps wandering back to the way Ron's hair falls over his eyes just so…

Ah, those eyes. Honestly, I could get lost in those beautiful eyes at any given moment and not be able to find my way back for an eon—and not regret it at all. Sometimes I think that his eyes are the only ones that can really see me. See past the books, the reputation of "cleverness" that precedes me, and the sheer determination to reach the goals I have set for myself. There's much more to me than that, and I know that the few close me know it but sometimes I feel that only Ron can fully understand it.

And then he goes and opens that horrific yet adorable lopsided mouth of his and says something so immensely cruel that I forget any and every decent thought I've ever had about him.

I really just don't know what to do with myself anymore. It used to be easy to hide, but these days its getting harder and harder. He makes me smile more than any other person, place or thing. He also makes me cry harder into my pillow than I ever have before. And yet, I love him. I love so many things about him that it's impossible to attempt to make a list—something I'm usually quite good at. He all just blends together into some confusing blur of perfection and I just find myself unable to think straight.

Which, again, leaves me in a very unpleasant situation when it comes to making this awful draught…why is mine still purple? And—hang on, why is Harry's the correct shade? How on Earth did he manage that!

A clockwise stir? I don't think so, sir. It says counterclockwise, and if there's one thing I can always count on, it's the textbook. But then why is his…

Ron's looks like molasses. I smile to myself. Merlin bless him, I know he tries. And look at how the steam from the cauldron is making his hair curl up a bit at the nape of his neck…I wonder if I concentrate I can get a smell of his hair again…

**HERMIONE! Pay attention! As awful as it sounds, you KNOW you're in trouble if Harry is doing better than you right now! That should serve as a decent wake up call!**

**Well**, I counter to myself, **sometimes you have to just stop thinking about school for just one moment…**

**Excuse me?** My brain shoots back. **Who are you and what have you done with yourself?**

For the millionth time since third year, I remember what Professor Trelawney said to me, the day she pushed me over the edge…

"…your heart is as shriveled as an old maid's, and you hide behind the books to which you so desperately cleave…"

I know I'm more than that. I do not hide myself behind my books. It's just that books are the only thing I can always depend on, no matter what. If it is typed, printed, and bound—it makes sense to me. It's truth. It's real.

Matters of the heart are never so cut and dry, as evidence by my constant confusion. How can he make me cry so? How can he turn right around and make me feel like all is right with the world, no matter what Voldemort may be up to, no matter how much danger Harry is in?

Oh, and Harry. I shudder to think at Harry's reaction to my feelings towards Ron. Would he feel jealous? Upset? Angry? I know he would be noble and outwardly be happy for us, but Harry has never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve, maybe he'd draw away from us—I don't want that to happen, I mean, what if one day Ron and I get marr—

**Oh LISTEN to yourself! You can't even pluck up the courage to tell the boy—man?—how you feel and you're already picking out Ginny's bridesmaid dress!**

Hm, thinking of Ginny…maybe Harry wouldn't be so put out by Ron and me. I've noticed things about him lately…like the way his face seems to light up; some light sparks in his eyes whenever she's around. And when she mentions Dean, the spark immediately dims a bit. I think they'd be perfect for each other, I always have, but I'm living proof that it takes an unspeakable amount of courage to just put those feelings out in the open…so I guess I can't blame Harry for keeping his mouth shut as well…

Time is up? TIME'S UP! CURSES! How could I have let myself get so distracted…?

**Harry did the best? Oi, Hermione, you have got to stop goggling over Ron during class! You'll never make it past this term**!

Ah, well, like I was telling myself earlier…sometimes matters of the heart can be worth a bit of lagging. Of course, I could have really used that Felix Felicis in my situation…

But for now, I can settle for smelling the freshly mown grass, new parchment, and **every little scent associated with Ron**…


	2. Three Simple Words

They belong to JKR, although it's quite fun to delve into the depths of Hermione's mind…

"We're allowed to bring guests, and I was going to ask you to come, but if you think it's so stupid then I won't bother!"

Oh dear, I just said that with my outside voice, didn't I?

**Great, Granger, juuuuust spectacular. Why don't you just propose to him while you're at it? Give him a real chuckle.**

Well, I suppose it serves me right for thinking ahead of myself. I had the whole scenario pictured in my mind, drastically different than the one playing out before my very eyes. These disgusting pods aren't making it any better, either.

Why, oh WHY did I think he would even want to go with me? Honestly? I guess I just had finally come to the conclusion that in order for anything to ever become real between Ron and I, I would have to take that first leap of faith.

**Well, you certainly didn't plan on leaping off a cliff and landing in a vat of bubotuber pus, did you, Hermione? **

And yet, that's where I am. It was a whim, actually. When Professor Slughorn first told me about his Christmas party, he had cornered me outside the Great Hall after supper. He droned on and on about how unfortunate it was that Harry had managed to evade all of his parties since the beginning of the term, and then he began to talk of the big Christmas soiree he was planning, and something about inviting a vampire. My mind had wandered off to who knows where, because all I was concentrating on was being a best friend to Harry and providing him an excuse to skive the party—and perhaps a viable enough excuse that could get me out of it, as well. Ah, but then I was thwarted, because he specifically asked me when Harry would be available so that he could schedule the party around Harry's "busy schedule." Drat.

One thing I am NOT skilled at is lying. If it's for the protection of someone else, I can most certainly keep my mouth shut. And, if it is a dire circumstance, I can fib…reasonably well. Some would say my fibs can be even halfway convincing sometimes.

But a teacher? My face always turns horrendously scarlet and I can't think of anything fast enough, and I end up sputtering to the point of which anyone would recognize a lie that could come out of my mouth. Hence, I tell the truth. So, much to my dismay (and Harry's, when I told him), I gave Professor Slughorn a day that I knew Harry could make it. Then he patted me forcefully on the back and said something about being able to invite a guest.

A guest? A guest, like a date? The opportunity to ask someone to come with me under the pretense of a Professor's silly party so I wouldn't appear over-anxious?

It seemed that I didn't need that Felix Felicis to tweak my circumstances after all! This was perfect! I could ask Ron, I know he's wanted to come to a party thrown by Slughorn, and I know he's always felt a bit left out that he isn't included in the "Slug Club"—ugh, horrid name, isn't it?

Ah, but at the same time, somewhat endearing. Whenever someone uses the term, my mind wanders back to a sunny day almost 4 years ago…to the day that Ronald Weasley first defended my honor. And in return, he was forced to cough up slugs for the better part of an hour. But he stood up for me. He stood in between Malfoy and I and attempted to hex him into oblivion with that broken wand of his. It was then that I first saw the amazing spark of loyalty that runs deep in his veins. He is amazing, honestly, he is.

**Hermione! How is it you manage to turn every little thing into something to do with Ron? You know, the Ron that just bit your head off when you went out on a limb and mentioned that you were planning on asking him on some sort of quasi-date? Yes, THAT Ron, remember?**

Where was I? Wait, what is Harry doing? Oh dear, he's just lost his pod. Oh, well.

I finally steal a glance at Ron, and I notice he has a far-off sort of look in his eye that I cannot quite place. He seems a bit shell-shocked, actually. His ears are still pink, of course, but not out of anger—out of…embarrassment? Surprise? He's never been so unreadable to me before.

Then his gaze meets mine, for one heart-stopping moment.

"You were going to ask me?"

Of course I was going to ask you, you dolt! I've only been madly in love with you for years now! Why wouldn't I ask you? You, who makes me feel warmth on the coldest day of the year? You, who can make me go from a loquacious, well-versed girl into a deaf-mute with a simple smile? You, who can look down at me with those enormous blue eyes that hold so much awe for the world around you? You, who can make time stop and yet make the world spin for me all at the same time? And you ask me whether I was going to ask you to spend just a mere few hours in my presence, so that I can finally make you see the fun you could have had with me at the Yule Ball? So that I can perhaps look like someone you could see yourself with, even if Harry wasn't around?

HONESTLY! Can one human being possibly be that thick? It's taking a great amount of self-control to keep myself from flinging my pod at him.

I can't read his face, for the first time in a very long time. That's how I attempt to make sense out of him—I try to read him like a book. Turn Ronald Weasley into text, put him on paper, and read him. The only thing I can read out of his face right now is either a dumbfounded realization of my attraction to him, or the thought of going with me inwardly repulses him, and he's trying to soften the blow for me.

Hang on, there. He couldn't possibly return the attraction. No, no. It must be the repulsion. That has to be it. Well, if there's one thing I can do, it's fan a spark of row into an explosion. Nothing thrills me more than pushing Ron's buttons when need be.

"Yes, but obviously if you'd rather I hook-up with McLaggen…"

**Ah, far enough, Hermione. No need to finish that sentence. You've said as much as you need to.**

And here it is, the pivotal split second that I always crave during our most heated rows. The moment where Ron either gives up in defeat (which rarely happens) or he comes back with a cut even more malicious than mine. But in this split second, just this mere moment in time, his face goes slack as he thinks about what to say. He may argue later that he says things he didn't mean, that he wasn't thinking, but I know better. Because it's in this moment, I can look into his eyes and see HIM. Unadulterated Ron. Ron with no barriers, no walls, no shields. It's the most vulnerable I've ever seen him. Pity that it's such a beautiful moment, because as soon as it passes, I end up insulted.

It's a small price to pay.

"No, I wouldn't."

Ah, the insult, the cut, there it is, I knew it was com—what? I…uh…what?

**Um, Hermione, you know you're in trouble if even I'm rendered speechless. Remember me, your mind? The one that's always working? Yes, well, apparently I've stepped out to lunch for a moment, because I'm not giving you a single clear thought to work with. How unfortunate for you.**

I look into his eyes once I have partially registered what he's just said to me. Three words, three simple words have rendered me completely speechless and thoughtless. The world is upside down and yet nothing seems more right-side up.

Since I'm incapable of speaking, I just smile at him. A small, tentative smile is all I can really muster up. But it's enough for him to smile back at me.

And that's enough for now.


	3. An Unkown Offense

"I'm _sick_ of Ron at the moment, I don't know what I'm supposed to have done..."

For what seems like the millionth time in the past few days I'm left asking myself what I could have possibly done to offend Ron so.

Things were going so well for us after he and I decided to attend Slughorn's Christmas party together. He was actually being nice to me more than he was mean. But something must have happened to him because for the past few days he's been downright short with me, practically giving me the silent treatment.

And now he thinks I've insulted his Quidditch skills, when I most certainly did not! I was under the impression that Harry slipped the Felicis in his drink and so was he! Why is it that, now we know Harry was just using some sort of psychological trick, Ron thinks I believe he's rubbish at Quidditch!

If I had thought he was rubbish, I wouldn't have confunded McLaggen at Keeper tryouts, I wouldn't have stepped outside my shy shell and kissed him on the cheek before matches, I wouldn't have quietly sung "Weasley is MY King" under my breath while the whole school cheered him on…honestly. And he has the nerve to go off on me now?

What did I DO? He wouldn't be this frosty towards me if I hadn't offended him in some way. I've pored over the last few days in my head several times, trying to see if I made one snide remark or an odd gesture that could have caused him to act this way. Everytime I come up with a complete blank. I've been perfectly nice to him lately because he's been perfectly nice to me!

He's so bloody confusing!

**Tsk, tsk, listen to yourself cursing…**

**Oh, bugger off, I'm allowed to curse inside my head; and it's not my fault, seeing as I've been continuously provoked these past few days.**

I've been going back and forth all the way up to the common room and still, nothing makes sense to me. I'm really hoping he sorts himself out before the party, because he would certainly make a poor excuse for a date if he plans on spending the evening sulking by the punch bowl. I have the perfect outfit picked out and everything…ME, Hermione Jane Granger, picked out an outfit well in advance for a party! The last time I was this excited about an event was the Yule Ball, and I'm twice as excited now because I finally have the date I've always wanted.

If he ever gets over himself, that is.

I give the Fat Lady the password without even really thinking about it.

Maybe I'll just go find him and walk him into a corner so he can't escape from me. Then I'll ask him what's really bothering him, and things will be set right again. I'd hate for us to have made so much progress since term started to lose it all on some misunderstanding. Yes, yes, that's precisely what I'll do. Just talk to him.

**TALK, Hermione, don't snap. Whatever you do, you won't fix anything by scolding or berating him. Even if he tries your temper, just stay calm. Remember the greater cause here; you want things to work out. You want to make it right again. Let him say prattish things if he must, but just let him get it all out. Do NOT jump down his throat…**

With one last sigh, I walked through the portrait hole, determined to find him and figure everything out.

**Deep breaths, Hermione, deep breaths. He'll want to work it out, too, you know he will. Even if he's angry, he never hurts you intentionally. He may be thick but he's not cruel. He just makes stupid decisions someti—**

Suddenly I can't feel my legs. My mind is once again wiped blank. I feel as though I'm traveling by Portkey but with nowhere to go. The jerking feeling behind my navel and the swirling of my mind is nothing compared to the frozen icy feeling of my heart crashing down to the pits of my stomach. I want to turn and run but I'm stuck in time, I can't tear my eyes away from the scene before me.

Ron, MY Ron, Ron that I have been in love with for ages, one that I THOUGHT could never hurt me intentionally, is there. And while just mere seconds ago I was preparing myself for self-restraint so I wouldn't jump down his throat, he seems to have jumped down someone else's—in an entirely different sense of the phrase.

It's like watching a bad car accident. Awful to witness and yet I can't stop staring. He's there, and…and he's with Lavender. That no-good, conniving, despicable PRAT is snogging Lavender Brown, right in the middle of the Gryffindor common room, in plain view of everyone in the House.

I feel the stinging burn of tears forming behind my eyes. My hands have gone clammy and my heart is still frozen at the bottom of my stomach. My breaths are short and ragged, and the room has seemed to fade away into the background. All my eyes can focus on are the two of them, wrapped around each other, kissing as if they need each other for survival.

But I'm the one that needs him for survival. I'm the one that should be with him right now. Granted, not in the middle of the common room, I have more decency and modesty than that…that…there's not even a word in the English language that can properly sum up the indecency of Lavender Brown. She knows I can see them, she knows everyone can see them. And she doesn't care! She doesn't care about anyone but herself, the self-righteous, stuck up, horrible little…

**Don't waste more time trying to label her, Hermione. Get OUT. Get out of the common room as soon as possible. Just go. GET OUT.**

With a calmness that is almost eerie, I feel myself turn and walk back out of the portrait hole. For Merlin knows why, I take one last glimpse of the two of them in that armchair (where I will NEVER sit again if I can help it) before I whip my head away and I go to find a quiet classroom where I can just sit.

I find one, and while sitting on the desk my mind again wanders over the past few weeks and I try to figure out why and how I got here. I feel the tears begin to sting again, but I hold them back. Crying is not going to help at all. It just won't. He's with her now. She'll be the one making him happy, not me. I missed my chance.

But HOW? I thought…we were…we were going to go to the party together! We were! And he seemed excited about it! And then he went all Jack Frost on me and stopped speaking to me for no reason and now he's kissing someone else!

I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING TO DESERVE THIS!

I pound my fist into the desk I'm sitting on, and then I grab my wand. I mutter a spell that makes canaries fly around my head, and I watch them as they twitter above me in circles.

**That's right, Hermione, just do some magic. You understand magic. It makes sense. You read the spells, you flick your wand, and you make things happen. The same result everytime. Nothing else in life is that dependable…nothing.**

Nothing…

I vaguely hear the sound of the door opening, and I see Harry walk tentatively into the room, looking rather unsure of himself—a bit frightened, even. I know what he wants to address, and I know he's not going to want to. So I jump ahead of him.

"Ron seems to be enjoying celebrations."

Harry looked as if his worst fears had been realized.

"Er…does he?"

Ah, Harry. He's such a great guy, always trying to soften blows for me. He's the true definition of a best friend to me. However, he is a male, and I know that it's some odd longstanding rule that males stick together when it comes to matters of the heart. So I know he's going to try and condone what Ron is doing by downplaying the entire situation. I jump ahead of him again.

"Don't pretend you didn't see him…he wasn't exactly trying to hide it, was--?"

I'm interrupted by the sound of the door opening again.

Oh, dear Merlin, what did I ever do to YOU? Why do you delight in torturing me so?

That laughter, that beautiful laughter that I've fallen in love with enters the room. And there he is. Pulling HER in. They've decided to find a more private place to ravage each other, I suppose. And here Harry and I sit, me with canaries flying around my head.

**Great, Hermione. One look at you right now and the birds flying around you will surely make him see that he should be with you rather than Lavender. Honestly, the canaries add that wonderfully ironic touch, don't you think?**

At least Ron has the decency to look shocked and slightly embarrassed as he mutters a small "Oh"

Lavender just giggles obnoxiously and pulls back out of the room as she says (squeaks, actually. I've never really noticed it before, but her voice is rather squeaky, sort of like an annoying bird that sits outside your window and chirps until you want to grab it by the neck and—**AHEM--**) "Oops!" And then she was gone.

His eyes won't meet mine. He knows he's done it this time. He's probably preparing himself for a lashing. He's expecting me to go off on him. To yell at him for his lewd display in front of the first years that we should be setting an example for.

Suddenly I'm tired. I am physically exhausted. I don't want to fight it anymore. I can't fight it, because I've already lost. He's not with me. Not with me. He's with her. And there's nothing I can do about it, and there's no book in any library that can tell me how to fix it.

There are no spells for mending broken hearts.

He tries to cover by pretending he was wondering where Harry was. I know better, but I just don't have the energy to row with him…not right now.

I climb off my desk, the God-awful canaries still twittering around me, and I finally gather the courage to look at him. Caught off guard, I see he's finally meeting my gaze.

I have to steel myself from those blue eyes. He's in that vulnerable state again, the one I love so much when we row. I can see inside him, to the depths of his soul. I see how confused he is. And yet, I'm still too tired to fight with him anymore.

"You shouldn't leave Lavender waiting outside. She'll wonder where you've gone."

I'm shocked at how even my voice sounds. I just want to get out. I just want to get away from those eyes, his stare, everything and anything that has to do with Ronald Weasley. I just can't deal with it right now.

As I walk out the door, something flares up inside of me. The icy feeling that was my heart suddenly felt as if it burst into flames. How dare HE be as hurt and confused as me? How does he think he has that right?

Thinking fails me yet again as I take one last look into the room at Harry's uncomfortable face and Ron's somewhat relieved face and scream out with all the raw emotion I have left in me.

"OPPUGNO!"

I should feel satistfaction as I see my trusty canaries attack Ron, but I don't. I just feel emptiness.

Suddenly, I can't suppress the tears any longer. As I leave the room and close the door behind me, I let them fall. I let my body rack with sobs. I don't care who sees me, I don't care if anyone figures out why I'm so upset. I just want to cry.

He's not mine and he never will be. He's hers.

And I'm alone.


	4. The Perfect Revenge

They don't belong to me, as usual. 

"Told you. Sooner you ask someone, sooner they'll all leave you alone, and you can—"

Honestly. They're at it again! In the middle of the common room…again!

One would think it would get easier as time goes by. Easier to see them together, holding hands, laughing with each other, even easier to see them kissing in front of everyone. But it doesn't. If anything, it just gets harder.

Part of me believed that maybe, just maybe, Ron had gone temporarily insane that horrible night. That someone had slipped him some Firewhisky and he wasn't thinking clearly. But again, I was proven wrong. And it's not getting any easier.

Because with each passing day they stay together, the more I feel as though my fate with Ronald Weasley has been sealed.

We haven't really spoken since "it" happened. While I think he's just angry at me for reacting the way I did, I'm not angry—I'm just hurt. Incredibly and deeply hurt. It's painful to look into his eyes now. Sometimes during lessons I'll sneak a glance in his direction, just to see if I can see any signs of unhappiness there. As awful as it sounds, I find myself yearning for the day that he comes traipsing into the common room, flouncing into a chair and groaning about what a horrible girlfriend he has, and how he would give anything to get out of it.

Lavender isn't making it any easier, either. I still remember that night she came into the dormitory, looking flushed and disheveled and…almost smug. She came in squealing and ran over to Parvati's bed and started giggling with happiness—while I quickly drew the curtains around my bed in an attempt to hide my red, swollen eyes and hiccupping sobs. I cried myself to sleep that night.

When I was younger and read fairy stories of young damsels in distress crying themselves to sleep in their towers, waiting for their princes to come, I remember the rational part of me thinking that it would be impossible to literally cry yourself to sleep. Crying before you fall asleep, maybe. But actually sobbing until the point of exhaustion sneaks up on you and you pass out mid-sob just didn't seem logical.

But I discovered differently that night. I remember waking up the next morning and looking like something Crookshanks had dragged in from a night of hunting. And while I sat in front of my mirror, trying to do something to make myself look at least sub-human, Lavender was sitting in front of hers, humming softly and giggling to herself every few seconds. I never knew it was possible for another human being to make my blood boil like Ron does. But she makes my blood bubble with complete and total malcontent. It hurts to even look at her, because I know she's with him. And I'm not. And I hate her for it.

**Well, Hermione, all's fair in love and war. You can either sit around and mope, or you can do something about it. Stand up for yourself for once. Be mean, if necessary. Make him hurt as much as you do. **

**That wouldn't be very mature of me.**

**Oh, for ONCE in your life, forget about being mature! Forget about being above a low blow! Cut him to the quick. You'll feel better.**

For a moment, I stop scolding and arguing with myself and try to think of something else for a change. Christmas is coming, soon I'll get to go home and spend the holidays with my family. I haven't done that in a couple of years, what with the Yule Ball and then spending it with the Order last year…that will be quite enjoyable. Just a week or so left of term, Slughorn's party, and then I'll be off.

Oh, drat. The PARTY. I had forgotten all about it. I don't really want to go anymore, seeing as I have no date, and no one to wear my outfit for, and no one to stand under the mistletoe with…

**Hang on just a moment! I could find a date…a date with someone that Ron HATES! Oh, it will be the perfect revenge. I know Ron, and I know that if he reacted poorly to his favorite Quidditch player, he'll take to an enemy infinitely worse!**

Well, now. This could be interesting. Who could I ask? The first name that comes to mind is Cormac McLaggen, easily. He's a thick prat who thinks he's Merlin's gift to the game of Quidditch. I felt no remorse whatsoever Confunding him during tryouts. Harry would've had a rough time trying to whip him into a team player. Oh, I could just see Ron's face when he finds out.

Suddenly another name jumps into my mind. Zacharias Smith, that obnoxious Hufflepuff from the DA last year. Oooh, that would be brilliant. Ron hates him, nearly everyone in the DA disliked him. That would be perfectly conniving of me. Just the right touch of cruelty and everything.

**Oh, Hermione, listen to yourself. This isn't you. You're acting like a woman possessed. You can't go through with it, and you know you can't. You want to hurt his feelings, not tear him to pieces.**

McLaggen it is, then.

I'm beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea in the first place. When I asked Cormac to the party, his face took the definition of smug to a whole new level. It gave me the strong desire to vomit, actually. But sacrifices must be made, I suppose. Now I just have to wait for the opportunity to make sure Ron knows who I'm going with.

Then maybe I'll be able to numb some of my pain by feeding off of his.

**Um, Hermione, you're started to sound somewhat like a vampire. It's a bit disturbing, actually…**

Well, that's what being scorned resorts you to! I can't help it! I just need something, ANYTHING to make this sharp pain go away. My heart still hasn't been able to make it back to it's rightly position in my chest, it's still down in my stomach somewhere, and it has been for weeks! I deserve a bit of release, do I not?

This lunch is ghastly, by the way. Normally I love the food here—mind you, I do NOT approve of the way it is prepared. But for once I don't feel like going into my convictions where house-elf liberties are concerned.

Maybe it's not so much the food, but the two people I loathe most in the world sitting at the table…snogging like that's how they receive their vitamins and minerals. I think it's the first time I've seen Ron sit in the Great Hall and NOT eat. And it's doing WONDERS for my appetite…

Parvati's speaking to me? Well, that's random. Probably out of guilt, I heard what she and Lavender were whispering about me earli—oh, I should probably respond, shouldn't I?

"Hi, Parvati!"

**Don't look at Ron. Do NOT look at Ron. **

**This is it. A smashing opportunity. Dig into him. Do it.**

"Are you going to Slughorn's party tonight?"

"No invite," said Parvati, "I'd love to go, thought, it sounds like it's going to be really good... You're going, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm meeting Cormac at eight, and we're--"

**THERE it is.**

I have to fight the urge to smirk when I hear the tell-tale noise of Ron prying himself away from Lavender as he overhears me. So I keep going, of course.

"—we're going to the party together."

Ron looks the perfect mixture of shell-shocked and hurt. GOOD. A few more digs wouldn't hurt…so when Parvati responds "Cormac? Cormac McLaggen?" I just smile as wide as my broken heart will allow me to.

"That's right, the one who almost became Gryffindor Keeper."

I see Ron's face fall a little further. For some reason, that just goads me even further.

"Are you going out with him, then?" asked Parvati. She looks pretty shocked, herself. Actually, so does everyone in the vicinity.

"Oh--yes--didn't you know?" I say sweetly. I should do something girly. Hmmm. I quickly insert a squealing giggle, not unlike the annoying noises Lavender makes while she hums to herself.

"No! said Parvati. "Wow, you like your Quidditch players, don't you? First Krum, then McLaggen..."

**This is it. Go in for the kill. One more cut and you'll have done it.**

"I like really good Quidditch players…"

I've done it. I know I've made him reach a breaking point. I hit him where I knew it would hurt him the most.

I sit and wait for the thrill of victory to elevate my heart from its recent habitation in my stomach back to where it belongs.

But the thrill never comes.

There they are again. Those eyes. Those bloody eyes that are swimming blue pools showing nothing but aching misery. I've gone too far. The vulnerability is there again.

I'm beginning to notice that I don't see it only in rows nowadays. He's always open and vulnerable to me, always allowing me to read him whenever I please. He's taken down his shield for me, and only me. I wonder if he's taken it down for HER as well…

Suddenly my heart twists in its new home. Guilt begins to wash over me in tidal waves. I've hurt him. I know I've insulted him before but this wasn't in the mindless heat of a row, this wasn't a slip of the tongue. This was purely and cruelly intentional.

And now I can't take it back. I need to leave. I need to get out of here. The tears are coming again. I need to go. Now.

Later, when Harry pulls me aside and begins to grill me about what I've done, I make the mistake of telling him the dirtiest version of my plan.

"I thought he'd annoy Ron most. I debated for awhile about Zacharias Smith, but I thought, on the whole..."

I stop myself mid-sentence—something I've become quite prone to doing. I can't let Harry know. I can't let him see me break down. And I know that if I keep talking about this with him, I'm going to crack. I won't be able to turn back, and I don't know if I'll be able to stop the tears. I need to silence myself.

I just need to be alone right now. I think. I don't know what I need anymore.

**Yes…yes you do know. You know what you need, and you've always known.**

**You need HIM. And you can't have him, and it's killing you.**

**You need to buck up, Hermione. Let go of it. **

**It's already let go of you.**


	5. Hope Is Enough

Here's the next chapter…it was the hardest to write, and yet it was my favorite one to work on. I won't be able to update for a few days…as a member of the UGA Marching Band, I'm sort of required to go to the Sugar Bowl this weekend, which means no computer. I'll update again as soon as I can, though!

"WHAT HAPPENED?"

I barely recognize my own voice. Neither my eyes nor my mind really register what Harry is saying to me. I see his lips moving, but his voice sounds far away; muffled as if he's speaking underwater.

My head is reeling. I'm losing control. I can't feel the floor beneath me and oxygen doesn't seem to be making its way to my lungs. The room is starting to spin. I feel like I'm going to pass out. Maybe if I pass out, I'll wake up and this won't be happening.

I had been sitting in the common room, sulking as usual. Today is Ron's birthday, and I knew I wasn't going to be able to wish him a happy one. His gift still sits safely in my school chest in my dormitory. I found it for him before term even started, when I went to Diagon Alley before going to spend the remainder of the summer at the Burrow. I found an old Chudley Cannons uniform in the back of one of the antique shops that Harry and Ron refuse to join me in. I wouldn't have noticed it at all, had it not been for the bright orange shade of it. I talked with the store owner about its origin, and it was worn by the Keeper of the World Cup championship team, ages and ages ago. I immediately knew it should belong to Ron Weasley, so I bought it on the spot. It's been neatly folded in my trunk ever since, and I've been looking forward to this day, the day I could give it to him (Christmas was an option, but I wanted it to be a gift on a day that was only about Ron)…but he and I aren't speaking. Plus, there's the added stress of giving him a better gift than what Lavender probably got for him. But that's not important now.

Nothing is important now. Everything seems so miniscule. Petty, really.

He could have died today. He…he could have died. While we aren't speaking. The last words I said to him very well could have been some aside jab about his Apparition skills.

Would I have been able to live with myself?

AM I able to live with myself right now?

As I was sitting in the room, Ginny came through the portrait hole, obviously looking for something or someone. She looked rather distraught, and as soon as her eyes caught mine, she nearly burst into tears. My first thought was that she and Dean had split up and she needed consoling. I got up and crossed the room to her and began to ask her what had happened and she silenced me.

"It's him, Hermione. It's Ron. I don't—I don't know what happened, but…but he's in the hospital wing, something happened with Harry and he was rushed up there and he looked reall—"

I had heard enough. I was out the portrait hole before Ginny could finish her sentence. I ran. My mind hadn't really grasped what she had told me, but I knew enough. Ron was in danger. Something had happened, I didn't know or care what, but he was not alright. So I ran. I ran faster than I ever had before. I ran to right here. I saw Harry and screamed for him to tell me what happened. And now I have most of the details; my mind is swimming with them. I can't form a clear picture of anything in my mind, it's all swirling entirely too fast. But all I can focus on is Ron.

Oh, Ron. WHY? This can't be happening, it just CAN'T. Not like this, it's impossible. It has to be a dream. I'm going to wake up in my bed, and things are going to be like they have been. Me sulking about Ron, and him not speaking to me.

I feel my legs start to give way. The tears are threatening to fall, but I know they won't. I'm so distraught I know that I am past crying. My emotions are so raw right now that I know I'm incapable of anything. I just can't…I can't even think straight, not even to myself….it's too much, too hard, too sudden, too WRONG, too frightening, too…too…

DAMNIT, why did this happen? WHY? What did he do to deserve any of it? He didn't do ANYTHING! He's perfect, everything about him is perfect, there's absolutely no reason for him to be in danger. He should be sitting in the Gryffindor common room right now, drinking a butterbeer and celebrating his coming of age. He should be sitting with his arm wrapped around me, holding his gift, with that familiar mischievous gleam in his eye when he's about to open a present. But he's not. He's sitting unconscious in the hospital wing. Holding onto his life by a thread.

I know it was Harry that saved him. I caught that part of the story; when Ron started to…started to…turn blue, Harry found the bezoar and shoved it down Ron's throat to save him.

I can't even begin to think of what could have happened had he not known…had they not…what if there wasn't a bezoar in the room? What if he hadn't found it in time? What…what if Ron HAD died?

I collapse into the nearest chair and place my head in my hands. I rub my face subconsciously and then run my hands through my hair, pulling at it. I pull at my hair until it hurts. Small pain, something I can physically handle. Anything but this. I can't handle this.

I want to go in and see him, but Madame Pomfrey won't let us. She says he needs his rest. It took all my self-restraint not to hex her or Stun her so that she couldn't stand in my way. Ron needs me. ME. I know he does. And I need him. I need to be with him, to see every breath he takes, however shallow it may be right now. I need the reassurance that he's still here. That he's going to be ok.

I hear Harry and Ginny discussing what happened, trying to figure how the who's and why's of the current situation. Every time the double doors to the wing open, all three of us attempt to see what's going on inside.

It feels like HOURS since I got up here, even though I know it's been less than one. I need him…I need him.

I'm not making sense, even to myself. That little voice inside my head has finally been agreeing with my tumultuous emotions for the current moment. I have nothing to argue with myself about. I have nothing to think about, actually.

The only thing that matters right now is lying helplessly through those doors, and I can't get in to him.

It's nearly eight. It's dark outside. It's so quiet. The only sounds I hear are the squeaks of Madame Pomfrey's shoes inside the wing, and Harry and Ginny's hushed whispers.

My jaw has been tightly clenched—I hadn't noticed that until now. I unclench it, and immediately my cheeks feel sore. Good, more pain that I can deal with, that I can handle. The tightness inside my chest is a constant, and my heart is still pounding in my ears.

How could I have been so STUPID? So childish and immature! I've WASTED these past three months with Ron. I have done nothing but try to deliberately hurt him. I've spent so much time moping over him and Lavender, and yet I've done nothing to fix it. Nothing at all. I cannot believe I've let our fight last this long. I KNOW Ron; I know he's not going to make the first move to apologize. I should have stepped up, I should have done something, anything…but I've been so focused on myself…

Deep inside, I know what's bothering me. I can feel it creeping up to my conscious thought, no matter how hard I've been trying to suppress it. The one thing that keeps pushing to the front of my mind is the one thing I don't want to confront.

He could have died today, and I would have never gotten the chance to tell him how I feel. To tell him those three simple words that could change his and my life forever. Lately I've thought it wouldn't matter whether I told him, because he wouldn't feel the same way. He's with someone else, not me, and I have no right to tell him how I feel about him when he's so obviously happy.

I love him. And he may not have ever gotten the chance to know it. He needs to know it. I need to tell him. I don't care how he reacts, I don't care if he laughs in my face, but he needs to know it. I have to tell him.

Suddenly, the doors open. She tells us we can go in. I walk in slowly. I have to consciously make an effort in order for my muscles to operate.

And I see him. My knees buckle, and I feel my breath hasten.

Helpless. He looks so helpless. So pale. So…not Ron. His breathing is so labored, his lips are still a bit blue, and everything about him seems to have lost a bit of life.

I look away. I can't handle it. I feel the tears prickling behind my eyes again and I try my hardest to stop them. But a ragged sob emits from my body. And though I thought I would, I don't care.

I want to reach out and grab his hand. I want to brush the hair off his forehead. I want to lean over and kiss his cheek and let him know that I'm here and that he's going to be alright. I want to be able to tell him how much I love him, with every inch of my body and soul. But I can't do that. He deserves to know the truth at an opportune time, and now would not be it. And with Harry and Ginny around I know he wouldn't want to hear it.

And I don't think I can handle how cold his hands may feel, and how unresponsive he may be to my touch.

Dear Merlin I want him to be alright…he has to be alright. I know he will be; I know he's going to recover, but…I want to see his eyes, I want to see him look at me and I want to be able to apologize. I need to tell him how sorry I am.

I REFUSE to waste any more time being angry with him.

Fred and George are here. Now Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are here. All the people keep coming in and out but I barely register their presence. My focus is only on Ron.

Everyone keeps talking, questioning…I say a few words but nothing of any significance. I still can't seem to find my real voice. But then—

"Er-my-nee…"

His voice. His precious, beautiful voice. I thought I might never hear it again. I know he's going to be ok. He will be. And I know that once he's fully conscious, he and I will work this whole mess out and be friends aga—wait. Did he just…was that my…am I imagining things?

I know I shouldn't even consider what that could have meant. He hates me right now, I'm well aware of this. There's no possibility he could be thinking about me in his draught-induced sleep. It's just not possible.

It's hard to brush it off, though…

After it calms down and everyone leaves but Harry, Ginny, and I…my breathing finally starts to become normal. My heart may still be in my throat, but it's beginning to beat at a regular pace.

I finally grab his hand. It's not cold like I expected it to be, how I feared it would be. It's actually warm.

Suddenly, everything in my world becomes clear. I feel a jolt of pure electricity.

He just squeezed my hand. Very weakly. But he squeezed it.

He knows I'm here.

Madame Pomfrey comes in to shoo us out, telling us it's well after hours. Harry and Ginny being to head out the door, and I begin to follow. Suddenly I feel Ron squeeze my hand again.

"Wait…"

I turn around quickly, not believing what I've just heard.

"…Ron?"

His breathing is still a bit labored. The color has not yet returned to his face.

But he opens his eyes slowly and looks at me.

"Er-my-nee…so…so sorry."

I finally release the sobs I've been holding back for hours as I rush to kneel by his side.

"Ron…Ron…no…I'M sorry…I'm so, so sorry. For everything. I don't…I don't know what I would have done if you…I…I'm just so happy you're going to be ok."

I can't breathe properly anymore, and I don't care. I bury my head into his bedside; not letting go of his had, and begin to cry even harder…but tears of relief, not fear.

I feel his body shift slightly, and then a slight pressure on the top of my head…he's reached over with his free hand and is comforting me.

"Couldn't…get rid of me…that…easy"

I look up at this, and I see a flicker of that smile flash across his face for just a split second. I've missed that smile.

I smile back through my tears.

Suddenly, Madame Pomfrey comes bustling back into the room with more sleeping draught.

"MS GRANGER! I told you to go back to your House! What are you still doing here?"

"I…uh…well, I…yes, ma'am." I stand up suddenly and give Ron one last look.

I squeeze his hand again before I finally let go. I look into those blue eyes, the eyes that I love so much…and, for the first time in months, my heart is back where it belongs.

"See you…tomorrow, then?" Ron whispers softly.

"Of course…tomorrow." I give him a small smile, and he smiles back. A smile of regret, relief…and hope.

And it will be that hope that guides me and gets me through the long days and cold nights.

I know I should tell him how much I love him. And I will.

But for now, hope is enough.


End file.
